


The Jack Jinx

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Misses [10]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 23:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18041069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: It had to be done. I haven’t gone back and read the ones that have covered this topic; apologies if mine is too similar.For Lindmea, and everyone else who suggested Jack :)





	The Jack Jinx

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lindmea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindmea/gifts).



> It had to be done. I haven’t gone back and read the ones that have covered this topic; apologies if mine is too similar.
> 
> For Lindmea, and everyone else who suggested Jack :)

Strike lowered himself onto a plastic chair in the crowded cafe with a barely concealed sigh of relief. Robin had suggested he go and bag a table while she and Jack queued for coffees, and for once he hadn’t argued. His leg was hurting too much to even contemplate dragging himself all the way outside the building to top up his depleted nicotine levels.

The Imperial War Museum was crowded with half-term visitors. Strike had not truly appreciated how busy these places got during school holidays, having always had the luxury of picking his times to visit museums and galleries should he need or want to. The walls rang to shrieks of children, most happy and over-excited, some tired or furious. Several times small children had cannoned into him and he’d had to bite back expletives and smile grimly at apologetic parents. Every lift was jam-packed with strollers and toddlers, and had to be queued for. Jack had long since given up waiting and had raced up and down the stairs, chased by Robin. Strike was so thankful she had agreed to come with him, and even grateful for Lucy’s tactful suggestion, that had irritated him at the time, that he bring help. She had clearly known exactly what he was letting himself in for, visiting a family-friendly attraction when school wasn’t in session.

It was worth it, though, he thought, idly rubbing his sore knee and watching Jack and Robin chatting in the queue. Well, Jack chatting, as he had done non-stop since they picked him up, and Robin listening patiently as she had done all day, with apparently limitless interest in the witterings of a small boy. She had shown a remarkable degree of fascination for the names and categories of military aircraft and ground vehicles, for types of gun, for random details of school projects on the evacuation and how to make a gas mask out of a tea bag box and two toilet roll tubes.

A smile crept over his face now as he remembered the look on Jack’s face when he was telling Robin all about his hospital trip, how he had had emergency surgery just like Uncle Cormoran, and came through it with a part of him removed, too. She had shown great gravity and respect for the scar on his stomach that he insisted on pulling his T-shirt up to show her. But it was her telling Jack that she had seen him in hospital that had delighted the little boy. Robin had come to visit him, and brought a cup of tea for Uncle Cormoran, so she was part of his great adventure, and a bond was formed at once in Jack’s mind.

It had helped that Strike had mentioned the old Land Rover when they were looking at pictures of various Army vehicles. Jack was fascinated that Robin owned and drove a vehicle similar to the ones his hero uncle had driven in the desert.

Robin and Jack arrived at the table. Robin carried a tray with two coffees, and a carton of juice and a huge cookie for Jack.

“Hope the cookie’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s almost as big as the plate. The juice is healthy, though.”

Strike shrugged. “He must have burned off that much sugar in the last couple of hours,” he said. “We’re just replenishing.”

Robin grinned and passed him his coffee. Strike slurped it, hot as it was, and longed for a cigarette to go with it. He just couldn’t contemplate walking any further than he absolutely had to.

Jack was, for now, quiet as he munched his cookie. Robin sipped her coffee and closed her eyes briefly, savouring it, and for the first time it occurred to Strike that she might be finding this tiring too, and she didn’t even have to be here. He felt a pang of guilt.

“Thanks for coming,” he said softly.

She opened her eyes again and smiled at him. “No worries,” she said. “He’s lovely, I’ve had a great day.”

She looked like she meant it, too, and Strike remembered how she had responded to his nephew, how entranced she seemed to be by his engagement with the exhibits, his excitement at the planes suspended on cables from the ceiling, his fascination with the pictures of soldiers through the ages in their various uniforms. He felt a sudden rush of affection for her, not a rare feeling by any means these days, but catching him off guard as always. He smiled back at her and hoped it didn’t show in his eyes too much.

“Well, thank you,” he said again. “I’d have...struggled, on my own. Lucy did try to tell me.”

Robin nodded, acknowledging as she always did any reference to his disability without pity or worry, just quiet acceptance. It is what it is, her demeanour always said.

“Can we go to the Tower of London next time? They used to chop people’s heads off there,” Jack suddenly asked, and Robin hid a snort in her coffee at the look of mingled exhaustion and apprehension that passed briefly across Strike’s face.

“Maybe,” he replied noncommittally.

Jack scowled a little. He knew what “maybe” from a grown-up meant. Then he was suddenly distracted by the sight of the gift shop. “Can I go and look at the toys?”

Strike glanced across. They could see the shop well enough from here, but it was very crowded. He reluctantly concluded that he couldn’t really send a nine-year-old off on his own. “I’ll come with you when I’ve finished my coffee,” he promised.

Jack nodded, looking around. Then he spotted the toilets. “Can I go to the loo?”

Strike hesitated again, not sure of the protocol. Again, he could see the doors clearly. And actually in this case, the crowds were in his favour. Dads and sons were going in and out of the doors all the time. There were bound to be other parents in there to chaperone.

He nodded, and Jack scampered off.

Robin, who had seen him thinking, smiled gently. “It’s a big responsibility,” she said softly.

“It is,” Strike agreed. “No wonder Lucy flaps so much, with three to watch.”

Robin nodded. “Jenny went from confident businesswoman to paranoid germ-freak when my niece was born, briefly,” she said. “Stephen grumbled to me once that he had to wash his hands when he got home before he was allowed to touch his own baby. She’s calmed down a bit now.”

There was a pause. Then Robin said slowly, “I really have enjoyed today, you know. If... If you wanted me to come to the Tower of London, or the London Dungeon, or...anything, really, I’d be happy to.” She blushed a little, wondering if she was overstepping a boundary.

“Thank you.” Strike looked at her, and she met his gaze. Robin was seized by a sudden, irrational urge to slide her hand across the table and lay it over his where it sat next to his disposable cup. Unable to meet his intense dark eyes any more, she dropped her gaze to her own coffee, but her eyes slid across his hand as they passed. So strong and large, yet deft and capable. A sudden image slid into her mind of Strike in the Army, in camouflage gear like the fit young men in the pictures they’d seen, polished boots and regulation caps, weapons in hand. Heat swept through her. _Stop it,_ she thought, appalled. She’d only ever known him as he was now, slightly overweight, one-legged, with unruly hair. She wondered if Lucy had any pictures of him in the Army. _Stop it!_

Strike dropped his eyes to his cup as well, trying to tell himself he had imagined the heat in her gaze, hoping he’d hidden the fondness in his that threatened to bubble up into words sometimes. Every so often there was a moment between them such as this. How many was he going to let slide by before he said something, acted, took her hand in his—

“Can we go to the shop now?”

Jack was back at his elbow, impatient, plucking gently at his sleeve.

“Come on, then.” Strike grinned, downed the rest of his coffee, and painfully hauled himself to his feet. Robin started to stand, too, but he waved an arm at her vaguely.

“No hurry,” he said. “We’ll just be over there. Finish your coffee.”

Robin nodded, her cheeks still pink, and tried not to watch as the two ambled away slowly. She idly broke a piece off Jack’s half-finished cookie and popped it into her mouth.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I think this fic is just crying out for a repeat of [this](https://lulacat3.tumblr.com/post/177485233905) picture, don’t you? Happy Friday! ;)
> 
> This fic also spawned a whole sequel featuring lots of lovely days out with Jack as Strike and Robin grow closer. It’s called The Crush.


End file.
